


pitter-patter

by gallade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst too, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied genyatta, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Red String of Fate, Romance, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Violence, anyways im emotional, in later chapters lmao, more tags will be added probably lol, probably won't be smut but we'll See!, young mchanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallade/pseuds/gallade
Summary: true love doesn't fade, even though the string connecting them does sometimes.





	

A red string tied daintily on his pinky dictated Hanzo Shimada’s love life.

Knowing that someone out there might be thinking of him gave him excitement, even as a young child. In times of boredom, which were common in the Shimada household (his father was out, his brother was too little to play, and his mother was often reading or tending to Genji or teaching either of them godforsaken educational lessons) he’d try to fiddle with his string or stand on his bed and move his left hand around to see if there was any change in the direction or tautness of it.

Realistically, even as a little boy who peeked through a crack in the wall of the garden to take a look at life outside the estate, he knew he shouldn’t hold himself to the invisible thread. The other end of his string most likely held someone who wouldn’t return his adoration. He sometimes saw couples meandering about and wondered to who their threads connected them, whether it be to each other or someone entirely different. 

His curiosity about the strings was unmatched. Once, in one of their estate’s dens, a six-year-old Hanzo, his mother, and Genji were nestled in a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, which held a dying fire. Gently, he’d asked her if she had a string, and she smiled to herself. “My bond is with your buffoon of a father,” she paused, chuckling gently, “but my string’s color has long faded.” Her tone fell softer; she sounded as if she was saddened by something. “Your father’s as well. I know he imagines his soulmate sometimes and yearns after them silently, but my heart’s with him.”

Puzzled, Hanzo had asked what a faded thread meant. She stroked his long hair, cracked another sad grin, and shook her head. “You’ll learn later, child.”

His mother had told him in his these early years that his red string should be cherished, and if he developed a connection with the person who it was attached to, he shouldn’t fight it. He still held those words to his heart after wordlessly observing the gentle relationship between his mother and father. While they weren’t connected by the bond of soulmates, he was desperate to develop relationships like that, maybe even better. He wanted friends, lovers, and people he could trust in his future. That future seemed so far away at that age, but he had plenty of time to imagine.

Unlike Genji boasted of his bond, Hanzo’s string was never erratic. Bored of its inactivity, he’d doodle under his duvet after lights out. With his oil lamp placed carefully under the thick blanket, he’d scrawl a smiley face stick figure with short brown hair. He always liked when the pretty girls outside had short hair. 

Come to think of it, the boys were even prettier, but he didn’t allow himself to think like that; he wasn’t sure if that thinking was normal; sexuality was never something touched upon in lessons, especially not at that age. He often found himself yearning for one of the boys instead, though.

The very first time his thread flickered, Hanzo was nine years old. He was sprawled atop his covers and was staring at the ceiling. It was a balmy day; his mood was soured when he thought about going outside in the heat, but it really wasn’t much better inside. He’d left his balcony doors wide open to allow air circulation, the long curtains flowing softly with the gentle breeze. He heard his mother’s beloved wind chimes sing just outside, and it made the experience feel almost surreal. 

Bored, he rose his pinkie to stare at the string that was tied to him, then followed its path with his eyes as it rose outside the balcony and proceeded into the distance for as far as he could see. His gaze returned to his pinkie just in time to catch the string jerk. It was nothing significant and nothing he would notice if he was distracted by other things, but his reaction was immediate. He sat up abruptly, cradling his left hand in his right. 

The vibrancy of the string’s red was faltering. Hanzo’s mouth fell open as he watched the color drain into gray, and he knew something was most definitely wrong, but his cry of surprise didn’t manage to leave his lips as the color snapped back just as swiftly. He exhaled a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Please be okay,” the young boy murmured gently, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings, and chest feeling tight with emotion he didn’t know he even held. He kissed his pinkie where the string was tied before letting himself flop down onto the bed, but didn’t let his eyes fall away from the knot for too long, as if making sure everything was okay.

Thousands of miles away, a young boy fell off the loft of his family’s barn. He was definitely concussed, but he was extremely lucky that nothing more had happened to him. He rubbed the back of his head with one hand as he pushed himself up with the other, grimacing as his fingertips met wetness where he’d hit his head after initial impact.

“Jesse James McCree!” his mother’s shrill voice scolded as she hustled into the barn from where she’d been watering her carnations just outside. Of course she’d heard the commotion; Mamá heard everything. “How many times have I told you not to go on the loft?” She looked at him, tsking at his appearance, and grabbed his hat from the hay-covered floor a few feet away from where the boy sat. “Come inside, let’s get you cleaned up.”

As she set down her watering can outside, Jesse following her out of the barn, the boy gazed downwards to avert his eyes from the blinding sunlight. His eyes met the bright string on his pinkie. He would blame it on being dazed from the fall, but he swore he saw the red brighten for a fleeting moment, and the warm feeling spreading through his body took precedence, albeit briefly, over the pounding in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> HI GUYS it's been a while! but hi!!! hope y'all are doing well on this wonderful day! i've been wanting to write mchanzo for so long and you have no idea how many unfinished works are sitting in my documents. this one managed to break outta there, though, so woohoo!  
> i do have a twitter @ hanihanzo and tumblr @ officialoofuri ! comments here or there are much appreciated!  
> thanks for reading my angels!! until next time! <3


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